No Asia?
by GLuisa88
Summary: "Because, no. Just no.  Dean isn't going to end like this...As the punch line to some demi "god's" twisted joke... 'So a coupla brothers walk into a diner...'" Sam is determined to do whatever it takes to get Dean back. Missing six months- Mystery Spot


**Title: **No Asia

**Medium: **Fic

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Prompt: **Exhaustion

**Rating: **PG-13

**Word Count: **Approx. 1200

**Characters/Pairings: **Dean and Sam, gen.

**Warnings: **Language, drug abuse, angst, violence, bad writing.

**Summary: **With the trail to the Trickster growing colder every day, Sam doesn't have time for sleeping and sometimes coffee and Red Bull just won't cut it. Coda to "Mystery Spot".

**A/N: **_Well, I'm not putting this story in my list of masterpieces but I thought I should at least take a stab at completing a bingo on my h/c bingo card! And that can go in Letterman's Top 10 things to say to compel people to read your story!_

_I guess I really hurt Sammy good here- This story kind of took on a life of it's own... I had no intention of taking Sammy down the path of drug abuse but I guess that's where he wanted to go so there you have it._

* * *

><p><em>"No Asia?"<em>

_"Yeah I know. This station sucks!"_

* * *

><p>For the first two months he lived on Red Bull and coffee (not strong enough unless you can stand a spoon upright in it.) It left him feeling jittery and on edge but it did the trick. Almost reminiscent of Stanford and those all night study sessions, cramming for a test. Almost, because back then no one's life depended on his success.<p>

Caffeine and a quick power nap here or there (shapes from his keyboard imprinted on his cheek. Cute.) and he was ready to go.

He rented a motel room, not so much for the bed, which he really didn't use all that often, but because he needed some kind of a base. Somewhere to take a shower, patch himself up if something went wrong. And yes, maybe crash when he reached the absolute end of his rope.

But sleep was to be avoided. It was an unnecessary evil. Every second spent sleeping or eating or whatever, was a second that he could be using to find a way to track down the Trickster and bring his brother back.

He could do this. He _would _do this. He would find a way to save Dean. That's what brothers do- that's what Dean would do if the roles were reversed.

Because, no. Just no. Dean wasn't going to end like this.

As the punch line to some "demigod's" twisted joke... _"So a coupla brothers walk into a diner..."_

And so whatever he had to do, he would do it. Beg, borrow, or steal. No problem. Somebody's head on a platter. Done. Anything. Just tell him what he had to do. Who he had to beg, what he had to steal, whose head he had to sever.

And then, because life is never easy, never goes how we wish, the caffeine just didn't cut it any more. The lack of sleep was getting to him. It was hard for his brain to function on nothing more than brief power naps and energy drinks. He found his body deciding to involuntarily shut down at the most inopportune times.

At one point he ended up sleeping thirteen hours straight. Which made him sick, just thinking about all that wasted time.

He was a smart guy, he knew there was only so much lack of sleep the human body could endure without serious consequence but it was three months and he was sooo close. So close to finding the Trickster. He would sleep when he got Dean back. Just a little while longer. Just had to stay awake a little while longer.

He wasn't sure the stimulants he began taking were entirely legal. So okay, that kind of makes it sound like there was a chance that they were legal... and he knew they weren't. Not that he cared. Dean's life depended on him. He wasn't going to let his brother down because he was too weak to do whatever needed to be done.

...

He dozes off and drives the car into a ditch. So not cool. Dean will have Sam's head if he smashes up the Impala. He circles the car several times to examine the damage.

Looking pretty good, considering. A small dent, another scratch. A busted headlight. Bobby'll fix that up in a flash. Dean never needs to know.

Licks his thumb and tries to rub off the scratch that the key left when he tried to unlock the car door in the dark. Rubs the back of his neck. He needs to be more careful.

Pops a couple more pills. That'll help.

...

His head is swimming. The info indicated that the bastard was going to be here.

He was supposed to be here! Son of a bitch!

All eyes are on him. He can't hold the gun steady. He's sweating profusely and the lights are too bright.

This isn't right! He was supposed to meet the Trickster in an abandoned building on Radio Road. The building was supposed to be _abandoned. _There weren't supposed to be children here!

Wrong building?

The Trickster could be any one of them- right? Was he hiding? Using children as shields? He tries to steady his breathing. Tries not to hyperventilate.

Sam doubles over as his stomach convulses in pain. The corners of his vision start to blur and he can hear screaming and the explosion of a gun. Too close to his ear. It deafens him. Was that _his gun? _

Oh god, it was his gun. He vaguely wonders if anyone was injured.

And then it goes black. He doesn't regain consciousness for a great while.

...

They do a tox screen and they find the drugs in his bloodstream.

They tell him he OD'd and nearly killed himself. The cramps, the panic attacks, the constant shakes. Those he can live with. But dying- that scares him. He can't save Dean if he's six feet under.

Or salted and burned. More likely.

To avoid trouble with the police, he sneaks out of the hospital when backs are turned. Vows to lay off the drugs. Maybe sleep a little bit more instead.

That works quite well...

For two days. Maybe only one and a half.

He decides that he will be a little more careful, do a better job watching the dosage. He'll be finding Dean any day now anyways.

...

Four months turn into five.

Bobby calls often. Sam never picks up.

...

It only looks like Bobby. It's wearing his face but it's not him.

Sam is sure of it. Like 99%. Umm... maybe 97%... 89% sure? No definitely 97... well, point is, he's pretty damn sure.

The Trickster is tricky like that. That's why he's called the Trickster.

He stabs him and watches him bleed, fear pooling in his stomach as the man dies. What if he was wrong? What if he had killed Bobby? He had been so sure but what if...?

...

He wakes up and it's Wednesday. No Asia but there Dean is. Brushing his teeth.

He hugs Dean and thinks that maybe he will never let go. It's been six months. Six months of hell, but it's over. It's like the past six months never happened to anyone but Sam.

Sam knows he's freaking his brother out. The next week, maybe month, always touching him, staring at him, refusing to let him leave his sight.

He's real. He's real. He's real.

Dean doesn't remember so Sam doesn't tell him. About any of it. Doesn't think there's any need to. Tells him a little bit about the Trickster and what he did but keeps the details to a minimum.

And Sam doesn't tell him how long he was gone. Doesn't tell him what it took to get him back.

Sam gladly returns the Impala's keys to Dean. The three of them put the town behind them, and Sam sleeps. Dean drives and Sam leans his head up against Dean's shoulder and he sleeps for long, long time.

Two days later he flushes his stash down the toilet and quitting is as easy as that. Cold turkey. It's a little too easy, honestly. But he figures he has the Trickster to thank for that. Not that he feels he owes the Trickster any thank yous. Consider it reparation for damage done.

He doesn't touch the pills again. At least not for six more months.


End file.
